


Old Fashioned

by Askell



Series: Not Safe For Work [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Cute, Humor, Kinky, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 02:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12666282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askell/pseuds/Askell
Summary: "[...] Something brushed his leg. Something soft and warm. Probably someone’s leg, the booth was small. He didn’t pay it too much attention.However, the touch came again, more insistent this time. Rick looked around, but nobody was looking at him particularly. Someone in particular was all but looking at him.Kinky bastard."





	Old Fashioned

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is long overdue but here it is! 
> 
> Honestly it's just porn and fluff. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

Mr. Grimes was an estimated member of the company. His suits were always spotless, his neckties always fitting, his socks never mismatched. Once he had preferred to arrive late and work nearly all night over having to wear brown oxfords with beige trousers. That was simply too tasteless for him, even though a pair of blue socks could have been the risqué fashion choice to save the day. 

But Mr. Grimes was no runaway model, though most of his coworkers believed him to be. In fact, he could work with someone sloppy around the nails or hair or shoes, regardless of gender. Practicality was the only factor he took into consideration when he assessed his subordinates’ public image. Even though Louboutins would have been perfect with the stylish black dress Maggie wore that day, she was a Sales manager and needed to be everywhere. Thus, he forgave her Air Jordans.

Eugene was a disgrace. But he was the best at his job, so Mr. Grimes pretended he did not see him wearing track pants with a purple tie. Even though it pained him deeply. 

That had been the secondary motive of his divorce. Lori pretended she couldn’t bear living with a man owning more shoes than she did, much less his constant reprimands on her lack of style. It wasn’t that Lori had no fashion sense, those clothes would have looked good on anyone. It’s just that she wore them like she would have worn old jeans: without the simplest care.

Of course, the main motive had been that she was screwing Shane. Not that he blamed her, given the occasion he would have done the same. Mr. Grimes was irrevocably bisexual. 

There was another executive, two floors above, that Mr. Grimes couldn’t stop noticing. He didn’t wear anything fancy, anything particularly stylish. He didn’t act like a prince or a _haute couture_ icon. Quite the contrary, even. Mr. Dixon was direct, brutally honest and perspired a natural authority that gave Rick shivers. 

Whenever he would meet those intensely blue eyes, he would feel ready to roll at his feet and feed off the mere scraps of attention the other man would give him. Shame flooded his cheeks with a pinkish tint, though he knew he wasn’t the only one thinking that way. He even had a hunch that Carol may have not hired him only for his excellent results. 

As the two men faced each other in the small, cozy booth of a local bar, Rick felt overdressed for the first time of his life. Mr. Dixon -Daryl- wasn’t quite smiling, not around so many people, but Rick knew he couldn’t care less for their babbling coworkers. Licking his fingers in a way that should be illegally indecent in public, he bore holes in Rick’s chest with his mere eyes.

Then, very quickly so no one else but Rick could notice it, Daryl made their secret sign for ‘silence’. It was something they used in negotiation meetings when they couldn’t talk aloud, but Rick wondered why the other man was doing that in the middle of a casual office lunch break. 

Raising an eyebrow, he got no answer from Daryl, who seemed more interested in his burger than anything else. That hurt a bit. Did he want Rick to stop talking to him? Whatever they had -because it was undeniable they had _something_ \- did he want to end it?

As Rick was starting to feel worse and worse, something brushed his leg. Something soft and warm. Probably someone’s leg, the booth was small. He didn’t pay it too much attention.   
However, the touch came again, more insistent this time. Rick looked around, but nobody was looking at him particularly. Someone in particular was all but looking at him.

Kinky bastard.

Laying back in his seat, Rick uncrossed his legs and pretended to be absorbed by the debate Glenn and Abe were having about an extension on the Chinese market. Almost tenderly, Daryl’s leg slithered between his. The executive welcomed the heat of it, not yet ready to acknowledge the warmth that subsequently spread in his chest. He did, however, very much notice the one spreading in his groin.

As the conversation carried, the touches became more precise, more sensual. In his rush, Daryl even bumped the table with his knee, causing looks to immediately turn to him. He apologized and went back to his food, never stopping to intently grind against Rick during the whole scene. 

As his breath shortened, he tried to look detached and to answer the questions he was asked. There was a mixture of fear to be discovered, and intense pleasure not to be discovered yet which pooled in his belly like fine liquor. 

Rick tried not to look at Daryl. He really did. He looked away from those glistening fingers he engulfed between those sinful lips, the way he sucked each clean thoroughly before bringing another bite of food to his mouth. He ignored the strong muscles rippling under his tight shirt, the way his jaw so deliciously clenched. He averted his gaze from the unusual beauty of his face, he really tried. 

He failed miserably.

At some point Michonne asked him something, which he did not hear and embarrassed himself when he gave her the wrong item. The smirk she threw at him, then at Daryl, finally exchanging knowing grins with Maggie was the most humiliating thing he’s had to experience since he was a rookie salesman. It became even worse when Daryl and her exchanged places, the exploring foot replaced by an adventurous hand. 

Long, expert fingers brushed his thigh first, ghosting over the fabric but not quite touching yet. It was excruciatingly teasing. Suddenly, Daryl leaned toward him, his toned torso flush against Rick’s arm and he considered for a second not giving a single fuck and removing all of his clothes in front of everyone.

“You okay with it? Tell me about the Meyer file if no, about the Christiansen file if yes,” Daryl whispered in his ear, the breath caressing his skin tantalizingly. 

“Now is not the time to talk about work, Dixon,” answered Rick almost immediately. “We’ll discuss the Christiansen case later, if you will.”

Daryl nodded, looking a bit offended as if he had been reprimanded by his colleague. The way his hand parted Rick’s thighs further apart told another story. His palm was warm against the insides of his thighs, sliding silently on the thin cotton of his pants. When his nails softly raked against his skin, Rick had to shove a big chunk of bread in his mouth to keep quiet.

Finding out that light scratches produced interesting reactions, Daryl tried new places. His nails dug, dragged, stroke in such a way that Rick was finding it harder and harder to keep from squirming. He would have to find a pretext to stay later than the others or to hide his raging boner at some point, if Daryl didn’t take care of that. 

The waiter came to ask what kind of deserts they would enjoy, and as Rick was about to answer he felt a long finger trace his dick, skin on skin. Burning a dark shade of crimson, he pretended to cough. When did Daryl manage to undo his fly?! Unable to repress a sly smirk, the other man ordered some pie in his place. Had he not been jacked off under the table around which their colleagues were sitting, he would have found it touching that Daryl was able to remember his favorite.

“Well, time to get back to work, I guess,” declared Michonne, as she finished her coffee. “Oh, and be careful. I heard that HR messed up big time so we can’t use the toilets from tower C anymore.”

“Wait, the whole tower?!”

“Like I said, big time.”

They paid and left, only a little surprised that Mr. Grimes and Mr. Dixon would discuss the Christiansen case in the restaurant and not in their office. Abraham didn’t understand either why his comment on their strong friendship made the girls laugh. 

As far as Rick was concerned, keeping his face as straight as possible, despite the irony of the situation, was pretty damn hard. Daryl’s outstandingly skilled handle of the situation was not helping. The expression on his face was peculiar, as if he wanted to smile wider but didn’t dare to. 

“Feelin’ good, Rick?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he all but moaned, mentally slapping himself for the way his voice dropped at least two octaves.

“You’re so damn handsome when you’re horny,” breathed Daryl, slowing leaning in to kiss his neck. Nothing could beat the satisfaction he felt when Rick shivered at the contact.

“So you’ve told me before,” he managed to smile, turning his head so their lips could meet.

Daryl’s kisses were rare things. He had learned to enjoy them as much as he could before they vanished. This time, however, he stayed longer than usual, closer than usual. The tenderness of his lips against Rick’s fueled the already burning pit of his arousal. He felt unbearably hot all over, and knew he wouldn’t be able to wash the sweat off his shirt. Which he couldn’t care less at that moment.

“Daryl-” he breathed, hard, shivering all over with the sudden orgasm that caught him. 

The other man grinned and handed him a napkin. Then he smiled and Rick’s heart might have stopped beating. 

Somewhere outside, Michonne was collecting the bets she had just won with a trademark smirk.


End file.
